


A Tasteless Apple

by ProseApothecary



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Banter or Flirting - You Decide, Gen, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 08:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21158762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: “I always thought it was unfair,” Aziraphale says, getting to the bottom of his third bourbon and looking around for a waiter. “That you get blamed for creating original sin. When it was quite anunoriginalsin.”





	A Tasteless Apple

“I always thought it was unfair,” Aziraphale says, getting to the bottom of his third bourbon and looking around for a waiter. “That you get blamed for creating original sin. When it was quite an _unoriginal_ sin.”

Crowley props his elbows on their table, and his head on his hands. It will need all the support it can get, if he plans on deciphering what the hell Aziraphale is talking about.

“I mean,” Aziraphale continues helpfully, “telling people to do the one thing they’d been told not to do. It’s sort of...obvious.”

Crowley frowns. The Temptation had quite a few detractors. But this was definitely a new critique.

“What would you have done?”

Aziraphale looks at him suspiciously. “_Nothing_. I had better not wake up to a sushi avalanche or televangelist extinction in my name.”

Crowley reaches into his pocket and gets out a pen and paper. “Extinction. How do you spell that one?”

Aziraphale looks at him coolly. “I’m not answering questions you know the answer to.”

“E….g…g…” Crowley mutters to himself, just to revel in the delightful little shudder Aziraphale exhibits.

Aziraphale interjects, obviously keen not to hear the rest of Crowley’s interpretative spelling. “_All_ I’m saying, is that your later work was much more inspired. That business with the phone networks, for instance. Less of a sledgehammer approach.”

“The rest of Hell is not so appreciative.”

“I imagine they quite like sledgehammers.”

“Hastur and Ligur prefer hand-drills.”

Aziraphale winces. “Creatures of little taste or subtlety.”

“As opposed to me, you mean,” Crowley says brightly.

Aziraphale looks at Crowley, currently wearing a V-neck that is plunging into oblivion.

“Yes, well. Relatively speaking.”

“You, on the other hand, have absolutely zero subtlety,” Crowley says lightly.

Aziraphale gapes. “You can’t be serious.”

“This morning. Your dear neighbour couldn’t afford to visit his parents this year. Lo and behold, several hundred dollar bills suddenly appear on the street. Like some kind of…_miracle_,” Crowley says with a flourish.

Aziraphale opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again.

“Only evil need hide behind artifice. Good…good shines brighter, the clearer its stance-”

“You just couldn’t be arsed, could you?”

“…Not particularly, no. I mean, having him win the lotto? Or write the next bestseller? It’s a hassle.”

“Takes valuable time away from re-reading books.”

“_Exactly_,” says Aziraphale, then frowns. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Never,” says Crowley, waving for the bill. “I have far too much taste.”


End file.
